by Thomas Emson
It would make Faultless feel better about the murder of his girlfriend and the murder of his mother, and it would make him feel better for killing an innocent man.
Well, innocent of those murders. Graveney was hardly Francis of Assisi. He certainly deserved judgment. Just not for murdering Patricia Faultless.
Now he tried to work out the time. It was probably early evening. He wondered how long he’d been holed up in this cell. Wilks would certainly question him over Graveney’s murder, and he’d have him charged for beating up those coppers—despite the fact they’d got their revenge.
As he rested, breathing steadily, he started to smell something weird. He sat up quickly. Not a good idea. Dizziness overpowered him, and he was close to fainting. But he mastered his state and steadied himself, his vision clearing, his coordination returning.
He looked round the cell.
The odor was stronger now. It was sharp in his nostrils and made his eyes water.
He blinked, his eyes sore. But then he kept them open. He fixed on something. Something he thought at first was gas.
They’re poisoning me, he said to himself.
The gas smelled of bad eggs. It seeped out of the floor, from the crevices in the walls. It poured through the slats in the ceiling.
He tried to hold his breath. His chest tightened. He gasped. The bad odor filled his lungs. He felt sick. He felt queasy. Panic gripped him. He scrambled for the door, thinking, Bastard filth, and he clawed at the metal grille, trying to open it.
Then he jerked, as if the floor had actually risen.
He looked down, not believing it. But it was true.
The floor bucked again. Faultless was thrown off his feet. He staggered back towards the bunk. He had to breathe and sucked in the bad air.
It was rotten. It was decayed. He retched.
The floor kicked up again. Something was under it, trying to get out. Something big. It reared again, the concrete splitting now. The floor peeled back. It creaked and groaned.
Faultless rolled up into a ball on his bunk and watched with horror as the ground opened.
A shaft of light shot up through the crack, and it was blinding.
Heat filled the cell. Sweat poured down Faultless’s face. Sweat and blood. The earth cleaved. An eruption from below threw up soil and concrete. It rained over Faultless, and he covered his head.
The noise was deafening. The roaring of the earth tearing. The creaking of structures buckling. The sizzling of flames burning.
Faultless kept his head down. He shut his eyes. He gritted his teeth. He waited to die.
But only silence came. Everything grew still and quiet.
He panted, still cowering. The smell remained, but it was now mingling with other odors—smoke, wood, petrol.
He panicked and sat up, and standing at the edge of the abyss at the center of the cell, smoking a cigar, was Lew.
He smiled at Faultless and said, “I’ve come for you in your darkest place.”
Chapter 95
THE THING ON THE THRESHOLD
Tash mopped Jasmine’s brow. Her daughter was still running a temperature. It had been a terrible ordeal. But at least Tash felt safe now in her dad’s flat. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her child.
A chill raced through her veins. Instead of sleeping here in her grandfather’s bed, Jasmine could easily be dead.
Tash was still confused about where they had been a few hours ago. The cavern. How had they got there? Had it always existed, beneath Barrowmore? Were there secret places in every city?
And how had they got out? The sewer seemed to go on forever. She thought they would never get out. But finally it led them into the lock-ups. They had to crawl through a manhole cover.
She thought of the journey from the underworld where Jasmine had been taken.
Something inside her had guided Tash out. An instinct. A knowledge. She was psychic. She’d always believed in that kind of thing.
She’d read her stars, and they promised her good luck and fortune, but as yet those pledges hadn’t been fulfilled. She watched mediums on TV and gawped as they doled out messages from the other side to weeping audience members. She’d visited fortune tellers and tarot card readers and clairvoyants. She’d paid her money and listened as they told her things that at the time seemed remarkable.
You feel you have so much more to give, Tash.
You enjoy the company of others, but sometimes you like solitude.
You are a creative person, but you’re not sure how to best use your creativity.
You are someone who lives for today, but you worry a lot about the future.
You love your family very much, but sometimes they make you sad.
That had been when her dad was in jail. How could the woman have known?
Being psychic would have been great. A gift you could use to help other people. You could be like that Psychic Sally, visiting theatres throughout the UK to help people contact dead relatives, dead friends.
And now she was psychic. Or had always been psychic. But it wasn’t exciting. It was terrifying.
All along, her dreams had been real—the nightmares that had plagued her, the visions that made her wake up in a panic.
And this gift, this curse, had been passed on to Jasmine.
Tash brushed the hair out of her daughter’s face. It was damp. The child groaned. Her skin was pale and clammy. Her temperature soared.
Don’t die, baby, don’t die, Tash thought.
Was Jasmine dreaming now of terrible things? Was she seeing something? That monster, maybe? The one who called himself Jack. The one who was going to have her daughter murdered and mutilated.
Rage flared in Tash’s breast.
She’d kill him if he came near her child again. She’d kill anyone who threatened Jasmine.
But why would he dismember his victims? She hadn’t found the answer in Jonas Troy’s scribblings so far. She remembered his notes, trying to think. Only the seers died like this. Only the seers were torn open and things taken from the body. Not only organs, but something else.
She touched her breast.
What do we have inside us?
She felt her heart beat, and it made her think of Charlie. Wilks had taken him. He’d be questioned but ultimately released, Tash was sure of it. Charlie had always been in trouble with the police—and he’d always got out of it.
Her body tingled as she thought of them together. She’d always liked him. But she was only a kid when he dated Rachel. He was bad back then. He was rotten. But that made him more appealing. He still had that darkness about him, but he’d grown up. He was a man, not a boy. She hoped he would stay. She touched Jasmine’s brow. She wanted him to stay with them.
The doorbell rang.
She thought, Charlie, and rushed through from the bedroom, into the living room.
A dark shape showed through the pebbled glass of the front door. Something coiled in her belly, something urging her not to open the door. But she ignored the warning signs. She opened the door.
It was shaped like a man, but much of the humanity had gone from it, although she did recognize the mutilated face.
It was too late to scream, and it was too late to slam the door. Because in the seconds it took her to gawk at the thing on the threshold, it had forced her back into the house and pummeled her with a hammer.
Chapter 96
THE FIRST EVIL
An alarm wailed. Outside the cell, fire blazed. The flames danced and flickered behind the grille in the door. They turned the cell into a furnace.
Faultless lay against the wall, staring.
Lew said, “So are you coming?”
“Where am I supposed to come to?”
“To your fate.”
“Who are you?”
“Don’t
you know?”
“Why would I ask?”
“I am who I am.”
“You what?”
“I am who I am,” repeated Lew.
“Yeah, that means fuck all.”
“Nothing means anything. Are you coming? You have no choice.”
“Where am I going, Lew?”
“You’re going back where you came from, Charlie.”
Faultless looked down into the fissure. The rocks were volcanic. The smell of sulphur wafted upwards. He should have been in a panic. This wasn’t normal. But he felt calm. He felt as if he’d expected this to happen.
He asked, “First, tell me about Jack the Ripper.”
“Funny name, that.”
“I don’t know his real name. Who is he?”
Lew smiled. “He is The First Evil.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He was my first dark thought, Charlie. Lust. Greed. Envy. Whatever. All of it. He was the first. The First Evil. And because I thought him, he had to be born.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I said, I am who I am.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing does. Come with me.”
Faultless obeyed. The alarm kept wailing. Outside, the fire burned. But soon, the police would be here. They’d want to know what was going on.
“Why is he killing these women?”
“Charlie, Charlie . . . they’re seers. They hunt him; he hunts them. These are the laws that were written down.”
“By who?”
“By me.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
Lew smiled and shook his head. “Can’t you guess?”
Faultless preferred not to. Instead he said, “Then who the fuck am I?”
“You, my boy,” said the old man, “are the Second Evil. Now go down into the fire and wait for me.”
Chapter 97
SHINE BRIGHT
Jasmine staggered out of the bedroom to find Hallam Buck attacking her mum.
She screamed.
Hallam and her mum looked at her. They stared for a second. Hallam looked horrible. His face was pasty and black rings encircled his eyes and his cheek was torn. Something tarry dribbled from his mouth, and he was covered in blood and sweat. Jasmine went cold with fear. He’d already tried to kill her once. He had been going to cut her with a knife. And now he was back to do it again.
Mum said, “Run, Jasmine, run! Go find Charlie!”
For a second she wanted to stay and help her mother. But when Hallam’s face darkened and twisted into an expression of hate and he tried to lunge for her, Jasmine yelped and bolted out of the door.
After running into the middle of the road, she stopped and looked back and thought of going to help her mum.
But she was scared. Her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees. She stared towards the door of her grandfather’s house and cried. She yelled, “Mum . . . Mum,” and then looked around, hoping someone would be there to help her.
There was no one.
Night had fallen on Barrowmore. Apart from a few youths, most residents stayed indoors these days. Dread gripped the estate. The murders had seen people curfew themselves and their children. In the dark was no place to be. Not these days.
Jasmine got to her feet and started to go back towards the house. A hand fell on her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin. Turning quickly, she gawped up at the figure who’d come out of the dark. He was soaked. His hair was plastered to his scalp. His eyes were wide with the horror of the things he’d seen.
He said, “Don’t go back in there ‘cause he’ll kill you.”
“H . . . how do you know who’s in there?” she asked Spencer Drake.
“Because I’ve just seen him kill your grandad, and he said he was coming to get you or your mum.”
Jasmine said nothing. The information seeped into her brain. She processed it—her grandad was dead—and then slotted it away, because she couldn’t cope with it right now. She had other stuff to worry about.
“We got to help her,” she said, trying not to think of her grandad.
“It’s too late now.”
“But my mum’s been—”
“It’s too late. He’s already taken her.”
“They never came out.”
“They don’t need to. I seen all kinds of places on Barrowmore these past few days I never knew existed. Secret places. Places to hide. Places to wait. I wish I hadn’t seen, but I have seen, and it’s done something to me.”
“What about my mum?”
“Come on, Jasmine, we got to hide somewhere—they’ll find us.”
“Who’ll find us?”
“Come on,” he said and grabbed her arm.
“What are you doing? Don’t, I’ll scream . . . ”
He stopped and looked at her. “You’re in danger, yeah. We all are. I mean, I’m already dead. Or I will be soon. So we got to hide till we can think of something to do.”
“I got to find Charlie Faultless.”
Spencer gawped. “You know where to find him?”
Jasmine shook her head.
“But ain’t you psychic?” he said.
She looked up at him. “How do you know that?”
“Jack . . . him . . . he told me.”
“You were there when he was going to kill me. Have you come to kidnap me again and take me to him?”
“No, honest. Honest, I ain’t. Your grandad dragged me out of there, and he was going to give me a hiding, get me to talk. But I would’ve talked, anyway. I would’ve told him anything. I don’t want nothing to do with the evil stuff that’s been going on here no more. Nothing. I got to do something about what I’ve done. I . . . I got to redeem myself, your grandad said. Before I face judgment. So . . . so I can try to help you.”
“Why is Hallam helping him?”
“Hallam’s sick. Sick deep inside. And now he’s got more poison in him. Black poison that just kills your soul, I think.”
She looked around. “It’s really quiet.”
“Everyone’s scared.”
“You think my mum’s already gone, then?”
He nodded.
She started to walk back towards the house.
“No,” said Spencer.
She ignored him and kept going. Fog swirled at the front door, and it wafted out into the street, making it difficult for her to see in the house. She backed up, scared.
“It’s him,” she said. “It’s him, Spencer.”
“He’s not there, now. He’s just left his stain on the place, that’s all. He corrupts everything. But you can see him. You can find him. That’s why he wanted you dead. You and your mum.”
“I don’t know how to do it.”
“Yes you do. Just think hard.”
“I can’t. I ain’t special.”
“You are. He says . . . this Jack . . . he says you’ve got powerful souls and you shine. And it’s because you shine so brightly you can shed light, he says, on secret things. Things other people can’t see. Things like evil. Things . . . things like him.”
“Where’s my mum?” she said.
“You got to find her by finding him.”
“I can’t.”
“You got to. And you got to do it quickly.”
Chapter 98
SECRETS IN THE CELL
When Don Wilks got back to the police station, he found everyone gathered outside. Smoke billowed from the building. Fire engines blue lights lit up the darkening sky. Locals clustered about, probably hoping to see the nick burn to the ground.
Wilks elbowed his way past some women wearing niqabs. They berated him, and he nearly turned back and told them to fuck off back to where they came from, but he was too focused on
finding out what had happened.
The desk sergeant stood among a group of coppers, staring at the building as it spewed smoke.
“What the fuck’s going on?” said Wilks.
“We had an explosion, we think,” she said. “Whole building shook. Then we smelled smoke. The alarms went off, and we got out.”
“What about the prisoners down below?”
The woman shook her head.
Wilks stared at the building. Firefighters bustled around the entrance. The door stood open. He thought, I can leave Faultless down there to die. But something told him there were secrets down there in the cell. Secrets he needed to know. Revelations he wanted to experience. Memories he had to recall.
At first he walked, striding towards the station’s front door. After a few yards, he picked up speed. By the time someone shouted at him to stop and he heard his name being called out, Wilks was running.
He was through the door, the smoke choking him, blinding him. He cried out, flapping his arms to clear some air for himself. His eyes watered. It was pitch black. He stumbled and crashed into the front desk. He veered right, coughing, spluttering.
Something drove him on. A determination born deep inside him. A grit he never knew he had.
There was something down in those cells luring him.
He found the swing-doors and fell through them. Cold air filled his lungs, and he panted. The stairs were clear. No smoke. No fire. He descended, swaying from side to side.
The cries of the prisoners met him as he reached the ground floor. He rammed through the swing-doors. He slid the bars aside and stumbled down the corridor. It was charred. The walls were black. The smell of burning was strong.
From behind the thick, metal doors of the cells, the prisoners begged to be released. They cried and screamed. But Wilks ignored them. He was headed to the farthest cell. The one into which he had thrown a broken Faultless.
He should’ve had him killed on the industrial estate. But he had wanted to keep him alive, to punish him and make him suffer. The plan was to keep him here overnight and then take him out of his cell again for another beating. Then Wilks would interrogate him and charge him with assaulting police officers and for the murder of Tony Graveney. All he’d have to do then was to hope that the Crown Prosecution Service had the balls to take it to court.
